Fateful Angel
by Redderhead
Summary: Trying something new - Wingfic JOHNLOCK. Is Sherlock all that he seems to be? How old is he really? Rated M for sexytimes.


_Righto readers! Hope you are all feeling right as rain today! This really is my experimental stage of writing, I feel. I am sorry for inflicting it upon you but I have recently begun to read the Johnlock stories that surround Myths & Magics and find I cannot help myself from experimenting!_

_This is a wingfic – for those of you who have not heard of this before: It is when one or more of the characters has a lovely set of wings, whether they are Angels, Butterflies, Human hybrid birds or indeed, something more tropical._

_So, no point really in saying that this is not a realistic story! Don't hate me for that!_

_As usual I own nothing apart from my imagination._

**Fateful Angel**

John returned to his accommodation in silence. Closing the door, he leant his cane against the wall and limped toward his desk.

Sitting down, he opened his laptop and loaded internet explorer to be faced with Google search index.

A day of intrigue had spurred him into slowly tapping the name of his latest acquaintance into the field. After watching the curser load icon anxiously, the doctor briefly wondered if this was a silly thing to do, but as the page was loaded with over 200,000 results found – the physician was easily distracted.

Reading the first few links aloud, John was sure there was some mistake or glitch with the database. With web pages such as "Myths online", "The real doctor who" and "deduction devils" at the top of the listings.

With a small shrug of his bad shoulder, the ex-soldier clicked on the link to 'Myths online' prepared to read any old rubbish.

John's dark eyes roved the page greedily as he read headlines and clicked the appropriate links. His blood ran cold as he spotted photographs of the man he had met earlier wearing an eclectic range of outfits; some of the photographs were black and white, some were modern day and others were very poor sepia scans.

John sat back in his chair as he read the paragraphs with growing curiosity.

'The man named Sherlock Holmes has been reported all over the world and throughout history. With an amazing ability to tell a single soul everything about themselves by just a glance at their clothing and skin; he has been reported as a miracle maker and an illusionist. Some records even state he was burned for being a witch in 1802." John scoffed a little but read on non-the-less. "Sherlock Holmes has been queried over these strange reports; but states that his family has an extensive history. These are the photographs we have managed to acquire of the Sherlock Holmes' or Holmes throughout history.'

John examined each photograph in turn. There was no doubt that the men in his family looked identical but there was no way that it could be the same man. That would be impossible.

_000111000_

"Looked you up on the internet last night" John stated plainly.

"Find anything interesting?" Sherlock replied rather tentatively as he tucked his hands behind his back.

"Yes, actually" John mused with a stern expression.

"Care to expand on that?" Sherlock asked with a side smile that made him look slightly endearing to the shorter man.

"A lot of 'Sherlock's in your family is there?" John asked with a smile.

"Oh, _those_ websites" Sherlock said dropping his smile and heading into the kitchen of 221B's flat.

John had to say that he immediately felt at home in Baker Street and had a strange underlying feeling that he would move in regardless of this strange and fascinating man he would be sharing with.

"What do you mean '_those websites_'?" John asked, not bothering to turn round but only loudening his voice to reach the taller man now tinkering in the kitchen.

"I mean that you purposefully researched me but did not notice my own website that would leave no mystery as to what I do and how I do it, you missed the point of my work as so many idiots do" Sherlock said dully as he handed John a mug.

John was surprised by this action but took the mug none-the-less.

"I'm not an idiot" John blurted instead of the initial 'thanks' for the tea he had intended.

"Practically everyone is, don't take it the wrong way" Sherlock dismissed drinking from his own mug.

John stared open-mouthed at the arrogance of this man who faced him before there was an interruption. This interruption was in the form of a tall man with salt and pepper coloured hair and thorough Londoners accent that had jumped up the staircase in a hurry and was standing breathlessly in the doorway of the living room.

"Where?" Sherlock barked as soon as he saw the man.

John surmised that this man must already know Mr Holmes by the way that they addressed each other.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens" The stranger explained.

"What's different? You wouldn't come to see me unless something was different" Sherlock said tonelessly.

"You know how they never leave notes? This one did, will you come?" The newcomer pleaded.

"Not in the patrol car, I'll follow"

John glanced between the two men with an open expression of confusion before Sherlock was talking to him and he realised a little time had passed.

"You're a doctor, an army doctor" Sherlock stated with a glint in his eye.

Before John knew it he was following this insane and strange individual into a taxi just outside in Baker Street itself.

Inside the taxi, Sherlock sighed heavily and turned his attention to the Doctor.

"Ok, you've got questions" he stated tiredly.

"Yea, where are we going?" John asked a little bemused.

"Crime scene, next?" Sherlock addressed abruptly.

"What for?" John prompted, leaving his mouth slightly open in an 'or' expression.

"If you had read my website you would know. Tedious" Sherlock dismissed.

"How old are you?" John asked curiously, hoping to throw the man beside him.

Sherlock smiled lightly before looking from his window, back to John and then to the road in front as a way of answering his question.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence as they neared their destination and consequently, the Pink Lady that awaited them.

_000111000_

Over the course of the next month, John continued to be intrigued with his new flatmate, work colleague and fast becoming friend. He had already saved the taller mans' life three times and been saved by the consulting detective no less than four himself.

Saving lives – as John already knew – was a far stronger bonding exercise than any other activity could be and therefore the two had quickly become accustomed to each other.

Sometimes John would need to exit the flat, blow off steam and de-stress as Sherlock's experiments, apparent lack of all feelings and common courtesy's got the better of his infamous fury.

John had almost forgotten the results of his search engine research and had ensured to read the entirety of Sherlock's own website and dissertations, not to mention investigative reports and experiment notes. He still did not know how Sherlock was able to deduce the way he did, in the time that he did it in, but that didn't matter.

It was fast becoming an addiction to watch the younger man work.

"Why are you jealous?" Sherlock mused, not looking up from his extended magnifying glass as he roved it quickly up a dead mans' shin.

"Jealous?" John asked with furrowed eyebrows "Who?" the doctor asked, looking up and around the empty morgue.

"You" Sherlock said, clicking the magnifying glass closed as he now pressed two fingers experimentally into the skin. "I've noticed it a lot lately. When there are other people in the room at the time of my deductions…you get, dismissive, angry, your heart rate heightens and you leave the room quickly, often without a word." Sherlock explained quickly before turning his head toward his companion. "Why?" he asked.

John smiled. "I do not get _jealous_." The physician said patiently.

"Envious?" Sherlock probed with narrowed eyes as he stood upright, towering over the older man.

"Nope" John said, looking up at his flatmate with a smile.

"Then what is it?" Sherlock asked, now walking around the gurney to stand directly in front of his colleague.

John shrugged. "I'm not sure what you mean, I know you are the observant one out of the two of us and you have that brilliant mind of yours, but your wrong on both accounts" the physician mused confidently.

"Ah" Sherlock said as realisation crossed his features.

John frowned in worry.

"Infatuation" Sherlock said dully as he gazed down at John's familiar face.

"W-what?" John spluttered as he looked up at Sherlock with concern.

"You're obsessed with me" Sherlock stated, not breaking his gaze.

"I am – not!" John shouted defensively.

"Your outburst suggests otherwise, John." Sherlock surveyed with a raised eyebrow. "I am surprisingly ok with this information – it has happened many times before – but I have never yet found the persons to be as interesting as you" Sherlock stated plainly. "Just do not be as obvious in future, please" he stated with a smile before turning back to the body at the centre of the current case.

"What just happened?" John asked the consulting detective's woollen coat. "Did you just tell me that I was interesting?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"You are. I find you…agreeable." Sherlock mused to the skin of the dead mans' arm.

John spluttered.

"You understand the implications of what you just said?" the doctor asked incredulously.

"My body is transport only, John" Sherlock reminded dully as he moved to the dead mans' neck.

"I can't believe this" John muttered as he turned and walked away.

"Don't leave, John. I need your medical opinion" Sherlock called albeit quietly.

John threw his arms to his sides and looked up at the ceiling with a puff of exasperation before turning on his heel and approaching the patient once more.

_000111000_

Over the next few weeks, the two men did not mention their awkward conversation that had occurred over the dead body of Mr Swamp.

However, John found himself thinking more and more about their relationship and began to wonder whether their 'friendship' was purely platonic after all.

"Do you still find me interesting?" John mused one day as he tapped away at his blog idly.

Sherlock looked up from the fireplace to see his shorter friend staring at his computer screen.

"Yes" Sherlock said dully, allowing a small cough to escape his throat as his voice was unused and scratchy sounding from hours of not talking.

"Why?" John asked quietly, allowing himself to look at Sherlock's knee out of the corner of his eye.

"I am confused about it myself" Sherlock mused, steepling his fingers and fixing John with a calculating gaze. "I find that your patience with me goes well beyond anything I have ever experienced before. I often wonder _why_ you insist that I eat, sleep and look after myself. I find myself – distracted – by the thought that your life may be in danger; I often do not like the thought of it. The fact that you consider my own safety a top priority and will _hurt_ someone who is trying to harm me is fascinating considering that you are a Doctor. I do not understand why you stay at my side." Sherlock finished carefully, still fixing John with a narrow eyed stare.

John looked up now, meeting the detectives' gaze.

"I stay…" John started and realised he only had one way to finish his sentence; with the truth, the truth that been nagging at the corners of his brain since Sherlock had brought it up in the morgue "…because I love you"

Time seemed to halt for John Watson as his words sank into the atmosphere. He could see Sherlock's shoulders visibly tense and his eyes widen a fraction of a centimetre.

"Why?" Sherlock asked sharply.

John shrugged. "You fixed me up" He said quietly. "I have never felt useful before. I have never had excitement, just an ordinary mundane life, full of study, diseases and illnesses. I joined the army because I knew there was more to life than I was experiencing. What I found was death, destruction and chaos. So much that it almost broke me. I had given up on finding anyone that would match me well – a so called _soul mate. _Then I found you. In a way; I guess you completed me, Sherlock" John explained.

Sherlock dropped his hands to the armrests either side of him and continued to stare at John.

"I am too old for you, John" the consulting detective said dully.

John scoffed. "You can't be more than 35, Sherlock" he said with a smile. "And anyway, what is age if not just a number?"

"Not if you knew my real age" Sherlock said, getting to his feet and turning toward the window. Reaching up, the taller man pulled down the blind, blocking the daylight from their living room.

"What are you doing?" John asked in confusion as he watched Sherlock.

"I need to show you something…you may decide that I do not complete you at all" the consulting detective said quietly, not facing John but pausing before approaching the other window to pull down the blind on that one too.

John tentatively grasped the arms of the chair in anticipation.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called from his position by the second window.

"Yoo-Hoo!" Their landlady called back from the door of her own flat downstairs.

"I am experimenting on the dolphin meat again!" Sherlock shouted fiercely.

"Keep it up there, Sherlock, I don't want anything to do with it!" She called back before the distinctive sound of the door to her kitchen closed with a bang. Sherlock smirked as he closed their living room door quietly.

John smiled in return before turning his body slightly to look at Sherlock with his full attention.

"What is it, Sherlock?" the doctor asked, his voice slightly shaking with a mixture of fear and concern.

Sherlock didn't answer straight away but began to unbutton his silk purple shirt.

"John, sit down" Sherlock instructed as John had made a move to stand, his voice was considerably more gentle than the doctor had ever heard it before.

Confused and bemused, John did as he was told and settled back his armchair by the fire, watching Sherlock anxiously.

The shirt fell to the ground and John was faced with Sherlock's pale white chest. The physician spotted the dramatic change of colour in his flatmate's light grey eyes immediately – they had become a vibrant blue, seemingly lightening the entire space of their dark living room.

"Sherlock, what-?" John attempted but faltered when Sherlock closed his bright eyes and a look of intense concentration crossed his faultless features.

John watched on in awe before he spotted something large and black elongating from behind the detective.

The soldier stared as the same appeared to happen on the other side of Sherlock's back, the two objects continued to grow until they were the same height as the detective himself.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, his beautiful set of full feather wings had fluffed themselves open and spread the width of their quaint living room at 221B.

John and Sherlock stared at each other across the space for a little over a minute before John shakily stood to his feet.

"Well….thats a….thats a….new development" John offered with a slight laugh walking slowly toward the mysterious but angelic creature now dominating the living room.

"I was born 19th July 1759, John." Sherlock stated gently, knowing that he was giving John a lot of information to take in all at once.

"I have not physically aged since I was 34." The detective continued, his right wing twitching minutely as they relaxed.

John took another tentative step forward before opening his mouth to speak.

"What are you?" John breathed, staring at his flatmate.

"I am…a freak" Sherlock stated plainly, looking to John with a curt shake of his head and a shrug of his bear shoulders.

John now closed the distance between them and stared up at the formidable angel before him.

"No your not" John said lightly, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair from Sherlock's forehead.

"You can touch them, if you want" Sherlock said lightly, watching John curiously.

"Really?" John asked in excitement, his eyebrows raising slightly in the middle.

"Feel free to examine me, Doctor" Sherlock said with a smile.

John tentatively stretched out his arm and gently prodded the wing over Sherlock's left shoulder.

"I said touch, John, don't poke" Sherlock teased as he continued to watch John's face closely.

"They're beautiful, Sherlock." John breathed in awe as he ran his hand over the feathers and laughed slightly at Sherlock's resulting shudder.

"Sorry" John said with an awkward smile, retracting his hand.

"No, don't." Sherlock said quickly, grabbing John's wrist. "Don't stop" he continued quietly.

John, staring up into Sherlock's inhumanly bright eyes, extended his hand once more and gently combed through the feathers of his flatmates' great wings.

They were extremely responsive, John noted, as he travelled his hand up and down the nearest section. Sherlock closed his eyes and leant forward to rest his chin against John's temple. John smiled and took a step forward, allowing his other arm to raise from his side and encircle the taller man's waist, holding his lanky frame to him.

Sherlock's arms slowly raised in reply to wrap around the doctor tightly as his wings came around them protectively, concealing both men from view.

"Has anyone else ever seen these?" John whispered as he let his head fall onto Sherlock's shoulder, his face toward the nearest wing.

"Only Mycroft, but he is family. He knew of me from birth" Sherlock mused.

"Does he-?" John left the question unfinished, hoping that the detective would catch on.

"No. He doesn't have wings. After all, he is my great great great great great great….great Nephew." Sherlock said with a smile.

"Wow" John said impressively.

"You are not disgusted, frightened or angry" Sherlock stated with confusion.

"Of course I'm not" John said as he pulled away from the taller man.

"Most people would be" Sherlock stated as he pulled his wings back to rest behind him.

"I could never be disgusted with you" John said with a smile. "Apart from when you leave fingers in my cereal bowls in the fridge." He added with an extended smile.

The two men shared a light laugh and a smile before Sherlock's face regained composure and its usual serious facia.

"John." Sherlock started, looking down at the shorter man. "I can regenerate cells" He said quietly. "My body regenerates in its entirety every day" he continued. "But if I were to…_mate_. Whatever species I choose to be with…would become like me" Sherlock finished, his wings twitching once more in rarely seen anxiousness.

"You mean…I would get those?" John asked in disbelief as he looked to Sherlock's large black wings.

"Yes" Sherlock replied, looking to the floor sadly.

"Are they actually of any use?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

"How do you think I _really_ found the pink lady's case?" Sherlock replied with a question.

"You can really fly?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes. But that really isn't the issue. John, there are many things we need to discuss; I am actually a fallen angel. I was sent to Earth to do good – sometimes the eyes of the law are wrong and I have to compensate for it – making me often look like the bad guy." Sherlock smirked here but resumed his explanation none-the-less.

"If you were, to become…my mate; you would have to be by my side constantly. The mating process – it involves a mind sharing process. I will not be able to be more than a mile from you at any time or we will both suffer." Sherlock paused here to catch a breath and observe his flatmate closely. "An angel can only have one partner, you would become an angel yourself, you would live forever at my side and forever is a long time, John." Sherlock finished, grasping both of John's biceps. "I will understand if you don't want to continue with it."

"How did you come here? Did you actually fall?" John asked, trying to deflect from the information he had just heard in order to give him thinking time.

"I was born; just like you. I had to learn to be a human, my mother and father never knew the whole story, I was labelled a defective child and sent to boarding school. My brothers have always looked after me; but then, they were not always as obtuse as Mycroft" Sherlock muttered darkly.

John stared up at Sherlock with wide vulnerable eyes. "How could your parents have done that to you?" he whispered.

Sherlock shrugged. "The Human Condition, John. They are frightened by something that is not natural or in the least bit usual."

"I'm not" John said, his face becoming stern.

"Yes, well, you are _not_ an idiot" Sherlock mused lightly, his wings unfurling once more. John blushed a little as he looked down at Sherlock's bare chest. After a few minutes silence, the physician looked up at the detective's darkening eyes once more.

"Does it hurt?" John asked bravely.

"They hurt if you do not take them out enough – I have not let them relax for a long time, hence the twitching" Sherlock said with a smirk. "But the changing process is tough. I have every confidence that you would take it in your stride."

"Where do I sign?" John asked, straightening his posture once more, rolling his shoulders back in a military-like style.

"Really?" Sherlock asked with furrowed brows. "Just like that?"

"Of course" John said with a curt nod. "I do not want to be lonely anymore and I do not want you to be lonely at all. I meant what I said, Sherlock. I love you and I want to be forever by your side." He smiled as he looked up toward the taller man.

Sherlock laughed lightly and his wings twitched once more. John looked up past Sherlock's black curls to see that a small patch of red had started to spread across the dark feathers.

Sherlock titled his wing for John to observe it closer.

"I wear my thoughts on my wings" Sherlock explained without a prompting question as John hesitantly touched the patch of red. "They have always been black. Unless I'm frightened, anxious or…seemingly…in love" he said watching as the red feathers spread over the muscle.

John turned his head up toward the consulting detective and couldn't help but kiss him. Their kiss was explorative and gentle; a first kiss often is. Their hands travelled; the soldiers' tangling in the brunette curls at the base of Sherlock's neck, and the detectives' lifting the back of John's favoured jumper.

John felt himself be enclosed once more in the wall of protection that was Sherlock's magnificent wings but was too enraptured by the angels lips and warm mouth to look at them.

By the time John had pulled back, Sherlock's wings were red all over, the odd black feather still remaining; stubborn and sturdy.

"So, how do we…?" John asked awkwardly as his hands grasped Sherlock's hips tightly.

"It has already begun" Sherlock mused as he watched John's eyes carefully.

"What? But I don't feel any different?" John said anxiously.

"Your eyes have changed colour." Sherlock stated as he folded his wings tighter around them both.

"Are they like yours?" John whispered.

Sherlock shook his head "No, they are grey"

"So, they _are_ like yours?" John teased lightly.

"In my human façade yes" Sherlock said gently with a smile.

"Will they always be like that?" John asked timidly.

"No, when the wings are tucked away, our eyes become human" Sherlock explained, resting his forehead against the soldiers'.

The doctor smiled at this; "Tell me more about being a fallen angel" he asked, staring up at Sherlock's bright eyes.

"I won't have to. I will transfer my thoughts during…" Sherlock left his sentence unfinished and John watched with some amusement as a blush crept up the sides of Sherlock's neck.

"You said that angels can only have one partner?" John questioned suddenly, moving his head slightly away from the taller man.

Sherlock nodded affirmatively and swallowed down a nervous gulp.

"Is that…per lifetime?" the doctor asked weakly.

"One partner per one angel, for life" Sherlock explained.

"Are you sure you want _me_?" John squeaked; a little less dignified than he would have liked.

Sherlock simply nodded as he looked down at John with a fond smile. "I met a man in 1875; he was an Army Captain and a Doctor…I once thought that he was the one. But he left me to get married to Ms Mary Morstan in 1900. Mary knew that I harboured more feeling for him than friendship. But she told me to wait; she said that if I waited patiently; something better would come my way…and look who I found."

"What was his name?" John asked weakly vaguely noting that the name Mary Morstan had rung a bell.

"Doctor John Watson" Sherlock said with a wide smile. "I do believe he was your great Grandfather, and what a good man he was".

John's jaw dropped as he stared up at Sherlock in shock.

"That is a little weird, Sherlock" John admitted.

Sherlock smirked before looking around their dark living room over John's head.

"We lived here…at 221B Baker Street; he pulled me out of a very dark time of cocaine exploration. But he left me as I was too much of a responsibility in the end; he wanted a wife and family, not a needy angel" Sherlock dismissed sadly.

"Well, you haven't changed much have you?" John teased lightly, tickling the back of the consulting detectives' neck.

"I haven't had a strong good influence with me for long enough" Sherlock replied with a smirk.

"Well then" John said, regaining some of his Army composure; "Wing me up"

Sherlock laughed as he wrapped his arms around the short doctor's waist.

"This may feel a little strange" Sherlock whispered as his wings flapped open without warning. "Just make sure that you hold on" he continued.

John felt himself lift slightly from the ground and tightened his hold on Sherlock. There was an odd noise before he felt a stabbing pain in his neck and everything went black.

_000111000_

Opening his eyes, John saw that he was in a completely unfamiliar location.

The room was large and grand, a four post bed took up the majority of the room but the rest of the furniture was obscured by filing cabinets. The filing cabinets were old fashioned, brown in colour and looked very out of place in the ornate bedroom. Feeling in a dream like state; John lazily shunted himself from the bed and walked around the room admiring the unusual art work that adorned the red and gold wallpaper. Vaguely noting that the only sound in the room was ticking clocks; the doctor then noticed that the wall behind the bed was a giant clockwork watch; he stared up in awe at the very large but flawless golden engineering that lined the wall entirely.

"My brain" Sherlock murmured next to John's ear.

"Sherlock, god, don't sneak up on me like that!" John scalded as he whipped around on the spot to see a normal looking Sherlock.

"Sorry" he murmured. "Couldn't resist. It is, after all, the last time I will be able to surprise you. After this, you will know my every thought"

John shivered with anticipation but turned back to the large cogs that created the wall on the opposite side of the room.

"Where are we?" John asked a little hesitantly.

"My Mind Palace, John. This is your room, closest to the heart of my working mind. You can come here any time you wish, sorry about the cabinets – I will put them elsewhere as soon as I have time." Sherlock explained.

"But…how am I here? That would mean-" John started with a bizarre glance at the taller man.

"Your body is in 221B, safe. I had to bite you; I can create an anaesthetic. You are unconscious." Sherlock explained before bending to kiss John lightly. Once they had broken the kiss, Sherlock looked down at John with a fondness the Doctor had never seen before on the sharp features.

"This process…it's intimate. I will transfer a lot of my thoughts and memories to you, and in turn, I will see your entire life. If you do not want to share something with me, imagine a wall in front of it; whether it is a memory, a thought or even a dream – I will try not to pry" Sherlock said gently.

"I have nothing to hide" John said firmly.

Sherlock smiled before extending his hand to the shorter man. John, slowly, raised his unreal hand and took it, being led toward the magnificent four poster bed.

"We can do this any way you wish, but it is usually more of a distraction if we have sex" Sherlock explained as he sat on the edge of the mattress delicately.

"A distraction?" John asked with a furrowed brow, standing between Sherlock's knees.

"From the physical changes your body is currently going through" Sherlock explained lightly. "The cells are regenerating to seal you in your current age and state. It, unfortunately, is a painful process. You are unconscious in body but your soul is safe in my mind. It's the only place we can connect safely." Sherlock finished.

John did not need telling twice as he clambered up onto the bed and began stripping his hypothetical clothes.

"You will need to patient with me, John. I have never-" Sherlock started as he clambered to his knees atop the mattress.

John shushed him with a hungry but gentle kiss as he got to his own knees to match Sherlock's height.

They both closed their eyes as their movements slowed; John unbuttoned Sherlock's immaculate white shirt and gently pushed it from his shoulders, his bare chest came in contact with Sherlocks' and he shivered at the feel of it.

It felt odd and unfamiliar at first to be pressed up against a strong, _flat_ chest, but John realised that he didn't care. He had fallen in love with Sherlock, not a body.

Pushing himself away just long enough to remove the rest of their clothing, John resumed their kiss, aware that Sherlock was going to let John do the metaphorically physical work.

"Sherlock, do you have…any lube?" John panted as he gulped necessary breaths down between their passionate kisses.

Sherlock didn't speak but leaned back in to kiss the doctor, eyes firmly closed. John, eyes still open, spotted items suddenly on the bed covers beside their knees. Pulling away once more, he saw that the items were different brand names of lube.

"Sherlock, we only needed one bottle" John laughed lightly as he reached for the nearest one.

Seemingly finding the space between them unbearable, Sherlock pushed John back onto the pillows of the bed, kissing the soldiers' neck gently.

John smiled as he raised his hands behind the detective to squirt a little of the lube onto his right hand.

Feeling the cold slick index finger around his hole, Sherlock squeaked and yanked himself away from the shorter man in surprise.

"Did you just squeak?" John asked with a laugh.

"No" Sherlock growled as he attacked John's mouth now with vigour.

"Yes you did" John said against those pale pink bow shaped lips.

"Shut up, John" Sherlock murmured into the kiss.

And just like that, it was all going to be fine. John felt an instant familiarity with the whole situation.

After stretching Sherlock appropriately, John slicked up his own hardened member before rolling them forcefully, pushing Sherlock into the many pillows.

"Ok?" John asked nervously.

Sherlock nodded once, just to communicate for John to continue.

The movement of becoming one with the world's only consulting detective was both nerve racking and exhilarating, but over all; achingly slow.

Once John had reached his hilt, he clenched his eyes closed as a bead of sweat rolled from his left eyebrow.

There was a flash behind his eyes; a Smokey room, Victorian dress, a man, short man with a moustache, the room was 221B's living room.

"It's begun" Sherlock whispered as his eyes flashed open, wide and staring. "You're inside my memories"

John opened his eyes to look down at the man writhing beneath him.

"Who was that?" he asked breathlessly.

"You already know who he was" Sherlock said with gritted teeth. "John, move" he flustered.

Remembering just what activity they were partaking in; John pulled out a little before thrusting back into the tight heat of his lover.

"Christ!" John exclaimed as he felt a searing hot pain travel his back combined with an image of a wedding, a big wedding, he had seen her before. His eyes burned – the familiar feeling of tears, his heart felt cracked, broken, but only for a fleeting moment before a new image appeared in the forefront of his mind; the man with the moustache, his smile wide, his dress still terribly Victorian.

"John" Sherlock moaned, breaking the image as John looked down at his lover once more.

"Shh, Sherlock, don't think of him anymore, I'm here, I'm with you" John murmured reassuringly as he relaxed his straight arms to enable his body full contact with the angel beneath him.

Sherlock opened his grey eyes to stare at John in wonder. "My John" he smiled before he lifted his head to kiss the doctor softly.

John took his weight once more on his elbows as he fisted his hands in the pillows beneath the detectives' head. Without warning, John began to forcefully thrust into Sherlock, quickly becoming breathless, he didn't care as he continued to stare into those grey eyes beneath him.

White hot pains seared through the doctor's arms, legs, back, chest and head as he continued to receive flash images of people from Sherlock's past.

"John" Sherlock panted.

"I'm here, Sherlock, I love you" John murmured frantically as his movements became more erratic, his hips seemingly uncontrollable as they jerked forward, colliding with Sherlock's soft skin.

"I love you" Sherlock whispered as his back arched and his eyes rolled backward in mental overload. John vaguely noticed the earthquake that seemed to travel the room, the clock behind the bed came to a juddering stop and several of the filing cabinets fell to the floor but hearing those three words and the feeling the taller man's nerves clench and spasm proved too much for the doctor to take as he climaxed, buried deep inside his detective, before promptly collapsing onto the taller man in complete exhaustion.

_000011110000_

"John?" Sherlock's voice called gently.

John turned over, expecting his usual aches and pains upon waking. This morning, however, the doctor felt nothing. Neither pains nor aches. John sat bolt upright, he was in the living room of 221B, a content looking Sherlock kneeling on the floor beside the couch on which the doctor lay.

"Sherlock?" John asked with bleary eyes.

Sherlock smiled widely; "Yes, last night did really happen, no you won't ever experience aches and pains again and no, you didn't eat before you went to sleep" the detective reeled off, resting his hand on the side of his doctors' face.

"No, I do not look _cute_ when I wake up" John said with a laugh as he looked to the grey eyes he knew so well.

"Good, our link is in full working order" Sherlock mused as he awkwardly looked to his own hand holding John's wrist, taking his pulse gingerly. "And physically stable" he said more to himself than the soldier.

"Your eyes" John started, looking up at Sherlock now that his eyes were cleared from sleep.

"Yes, I know" Sherlock said dismissively.

"We don't really need to speak any more do we?" John asked with a laugh.

'_No'_ John heard Sherlock's voice without the detective opening his mouth.

"Your eyes are blue and grey, is that my-?" John asked aloud.

"Yes, and yours have flecks of grey, unnoticeable to the common passer-by, you only noticed it because you share my mind. My deduction skill and the like" Sherlock said sitting back on his heels.

Without warning, the doctor leapt from the couch. Feeling fitter than he had for years he began to turn round in circles with his neck twisted awkwardly.

Sherlock laughed from his position on the floor.

"John, your wings need to _grow_. They won't start for another few days, but then you won't be able to go out until you can harness them" Sherlock explained, getting to his feet delicately.

John's posture declined as he slumped in disappointment.

Sherlock thought of what might cheer his new partner up and instantly received an approving look from John.

"Angelos?" The doctor asked with a wide grin.

_000111000_

"Are you sure about this, Sherlock?" John asked bravely.

"Don't think about it John, just do it" Sherlock laughed behind the physician.

Sherlock received a slap from a bright white wing for that; "It's not funny, I've always hated heights" John said with a frown.

"John" Sherlock sighed. "Number 1 – I am here. Number 2 – I know that your wings will work, and when have I ever been wrong? Number 3…you _can't die_." Sherlock explained as he hopped up onto the ledge beside John.

"It will still hurt" John said defiantly.

"I will not let you hit the ground" Sherlock said sincerely.

After another minute of John staring in fear at the headlight lit road over 100 feet below them, Sherlock sighed again.

"Oh, no, John, I'm falling" Sherlock said falsely as he tippled on his tip toes.

"Don't you dare, Sherlock" John warned.

"Oops" Sherlock said and with that, he was gone, falling toward the ground. His great black wings limp at his back.

"God damn it!" John said in an air of frustration as he launched himself from the building after the dark haired fiend that was Sherlock Holmes.

Reaching out, John grasped hold of Sherlock's arm as he fell like a bullet toward the road and with the simple thought of _'pull up'_ John's bright white winged feathers flapped into life.

The doctor felt his eyes burn as his wings lifted him flawlessly. John heard Sherlock's whoop of delight below him and he lifted them higher and higher – passing the ledge they had just left and heading toward the dark sky.

"Let go, John, I'll fly beside you" Sherlock called as his wings flapped a little.

John did as he was told and released the detective gingerly, ensuring that he flew before letting him move away.

Once the weight of Sherlock had been removed John felt ridiculously and giddily light, he rolled in the air and laughed aloud at the sensation.

Sherlock laughed at his partner and watched on as John continued to display daring aerobatic moves.

John allowed his eyes to fall on to their city at night and admired the Thames from the air; he stretched out his arms and fingers, allowing the cool air to brush through him.

Sherlock turned upside down and flew beneath John, watching his smile with a sense of pride.

John had taken to angel-life with ease, quickly mastering the new and strong muscles that sprouted painfully from his back. The doctor had remarked on just how like 'teething' the process was and claimed that he needed more food and energy to deal with it. Sherlock had smiled, not bothering to tell John that food, water and sleep were no longer a necessity of life but none-the-less the detective still ate with him.

The flat had to be cleared of all ornaments and delicate chemistry equipment as John seemingly forgot that his wings were so large and had already knocked over several breakable belongings in only a few days.

Sherlock found it amusing though and let his frustration slide – just this once.

The two had had to tell Mrs Hudson as she would have undoubtedly seen them at some stage; John being housebound – unable to tuck away his wings just yet.

The kindly landlady had taken the news extremely well and had expressed a desire to touch the feathers. Sherlock had nodded toward John to indicate it was ok and the soldier consequently had offered one for Mrs Hudson's consideration.

John had learned after two weeks; how to tuck his new appendages away.

At crime scenes, Sherlock had to keep swatting at the doctors' hands as they scratched and adjusted them under his jumper.

"Stop making it obvious" Sherlock had scolded by mind.

It was true that the two men no longer needed to talk to communicate, it made the usual question time between them eerily quiet and it was noticed by Lestrade and Mycroft.

It had become obvious to the Homicide division of Scotland Yard that Sherlock and John had become closer and that they could move together seamlessly. Nothing Sherlock could say would surprise the doctor visibly anymore, indeed, they appeared to arrive at the same conclusion at the same time.

Sally pointed out that it was as if they could communicate by mind; and Sherlock had had to pluck a maroon coloured feather from the floor behind John quickly without drawing attention.

"Calm down, John, it doesn't matter, make them think what they want" Sherlock had murmured directly into the soldiers' mind, placing a calming hand on John's back. His words and action replaced the colour of anger with the bright white that was indicative of John's soul underneath his woollen jumper.

However, just now, sitting on the tallest part of Tower Bridge, John's smile was wide and carefree. Sherlock sat behind him, his wings – larger than John's – cocooning them against the wind.

"Do you still not like heights, John?" Sherlock asked a smile evident in his voice.

"I could get used to them" John smiled.

"Good." Sherlock replied, running a hand through John's wings gently. "You're getting stronger" he stated plainly, testing the muscles with his dexterous fingers.

"I just wish we didn't have to hide them" John mused sadly as he gently rubbed his left wing against the jet black ones of his partner.

"John, there would be too many questions and experiments. Trust me" Sherlock said as he nudged John's wing back.

"I know" John said quietly as he looked out toward the boats on the river.

"Sherlock" John said aloud, turning round to face a raised eyebrow Sherlock.

John smiled widely as he fixed Sherlock with a very concentrated stare. _'Catch me if you can!' _he said without opening his mouth but jumping backward and extending his wings easily.

Sherlock laughed heartily as he jumped after the shorter man.

After playing in the dark air for well over an hour, Sherlock sensed the doctors' tired wings and suggested that they travel home.

Arriving back at 221B they opted for Sherlock's bedroom window instead of the fairly obvious street door; the taller of the two laughed heartily as John landed with an undignified flump on his wooden floorboards.

"Practice needed I think" Sherlock said as he landed effortlessly behind the doctor and turned to close the windows.

_000111000_

The days that followed were spent wisely. Sherlock teaching John the angel's belief system; re-writing the senses of right and wrong that John had learned when he was 7 years of age.

Sherlock took the doctor to get a suit fitted at his own tailors as the material wouldn't itch as much as his woollen jumpers against the feathers.

And they both flew every night; building up John's strength. Eventually, John was able to fly to Paris and back in one night.

Once they had arrived back, the sun was just about to rise and John headed straight for bed.

"Mind if I join you?" Sherlock asked lightly.

John, realising the full implications of Sherlock's words, smiled and nodded, reaching for the detectives' hand.

The only time that the two had mated had been in the mind palace, this would be the first physical affection the pair were to share.

"Flatten your wings and lie down" Sherlock instructed as he removed the only article of clothing he wore when they went for a night flight – his pyjama bottoms.

John's wings took on a red tinge as Sherlock joined him on his bed.

The act was a lot simpler than their first time, whether it was the fact that the two were effectively one mind already or the fact that they were now both angels with limited experience in their new domain, John didn't know. As Sherlock entered John, the two felt the unbelievable sensation of being complete. It did not take long for both to climax harshly and together.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Sherlock replied, pulling John a little closer to him.

"If I hadn't asked that day; 'do you still find me interesting?' would you have ever told me?" John asked lightly.

"You have all the information available to you, John, just go into the Mind Palace; I think it will still be in your room – actually I need to tidy up in there" Sherlock replied distractedly.

"My head hurts when I go in there. Just tell me" John laughed lightly, nuzzling Sherlock's neck with his nose.

"I feel sure that we would have ended up this way" Sherlock shrugged, running his hands over John's lower back.

"But what if I had gone and got married, would you have waited another 100 years for my great grandson?" John asked inquisitively.

"No" Sherlock sighed. "I would of continued to be far too fascinating to you and I'm sure that you would have chased me until the end of the earth in order to spend the rest of your days with me and me alone" he said plainly.

"But hang on, you started it, with your 'I find you interesting' speech, if you hadn't said that I wouldn't have asked." John said defensively, rolling over to face the detective.

Sherlock smiled. "I will admit it was by my design".

John smiled a little "Oh, you old romantic, you" the doctor teased.

"You are young, Dr Watson. When you are as old as me; you see fit to bend the rules of engagement slightly to take what you want." Sherlock mused dully.

"I won't have to" John said shortly. "I will have all that I want by the time I'm your age".

"John" Sherlock said in immediate disgust "That has to be the most unnecessary romanticism I have ever heard coming from you. Please refrain from that kind of needless affection in the future." The consulting detective scolded his smile visible in the early morning sun.

"Yes, Sherlock" John mumbled sleepily as he lay a wing across them for extra warmth.

The quiet but unmistakeable unspoken communication between them going unmentioned as they simultaneously drifted off into a deep sleep.

_I love you, John _

_I love you, Sherlock._

**The End**


End file.
